The Moon Tossed Droplets of Gold

Last night the moon tossed droplets of gold
Across the woods and meadow beside my home.
The golden beauty danced into my bedroom
Like subtle fireflies chasing the dark.

Then the Creator reached down
And with gentle stroke of brush
Spread the glow across the way,
While each summer daisy and fluttering moth
Stood proud in golden hue.

Life glowed and owls exclaimed with hoots,
The glory they beheld.

Birds to Wake Me in the Morning

If I had to choose, I would rather have birds than airplanes.


Charles Lindbergh

As I write this, it’s early in the morning on what is going to be an abnormally hot day. I love to wake up shortly after dawn and hear the birds singing songs so full of beauty with each proclaiming, “This is my home”. While I dread the heat and the stench of campfires from the evening tourists’ fires that will keep me from having my windows open tonight and the rest of the weekend, birds have no knowledge of this. They simply live in the moment. I sometimes envy them with their ability to fly and their lives uncluttered by the complexities that we experience in our lives.

We have so many more birds than we did when I first returned ten years ago. Adding shrubs for nesting sites has encouraged them to stay nearby. When I lived in suburbs, I usually awakened to the sound of house sparrows scratching in the roof gutters for bits of grit. Simple sightings of as common a bird as a chickadee, could be sometimes as much as two years apart. Now, I enjoy so many beautiful birds. There’s a special joy of living in a rural area that cannot be replaced by material possessions.

I hear a cardinal loudly proclaiming “What cheer, what cheer, wheet, wheet, wheet.”

Yesterday, I wanted to sit on the swing and enjoy my morning cup of coffee. This was not to be. The blackberry patch is close, and a wise catbird has placed her nest in the area. Both parents sat on tree limbs on either side of the pergola aggressively and frantically trying to distract me from the area. There are obviously young ones in the nest.

Now, how can I convince them to eat just the insects and not the berries!

The song sparrows have built a nest on the bank nearby, and they too were flitting about worried that I would bother their precious little ones.                                                                                                  Once, while we were gone for several days, a song sparrow built a nest near the outside door that we use the most. Sadly, our constant coming and going made her desert her nest. I’ll return to my favorite spot when their little ones have grown. For now, I’ll drink my coffee elsewhere.

Several days ago, I saw their nest carefully

tucked away on the ground.

It takes about two weeks for the eggs to hatch, and the baby birds will leave in another two.

Song sparrows frequently learn their songs from other birds that have neighboring territories and will choose a territory close to or even one replacing the birds they have learned from. They are able to distinguish their neighbors from strangers by these songs. It has even been shown that females are able to distinguish and prefer the songs of their mates. With an average repertoire of 6-12 songs, they are truly amazing birds.

The robins have much lesss fear of us. They make a nest above the garage door nearly every year. While the eggs are in the nest, the bird will hunker down so that we will not see her. 

Apparently hatching eggs is not as easy a job as it seems. The birds must regulate the heat to incubate the eggs to about 96.8 to 104.9. The females of many songbirds will incubate the eggs alone. While the male goldfinch will bring food to his mate, most females in most species have to leave the nest to find food further complicating the regulation of the heat. For the hummingbird, that means leaving the nest as many as 140 times a day.

Supposedly robins eat worms for breakfast but prefer berries later in the day. We humans, also, have our own separate breakfast routines

      

Even though they have 2-3 broods a year, sadly, only 25% will live to reach November. They live an average of 6 years but can live as long as 14.

The robin is one of the early morning birds that I hear. Like many other species, the male sings to advertise his territory and to attract a mate. The male supposedly sings louder when he has little ones in the nest. Is it because of pride or to proclaim his territory? Scientists would say the latter, but I prefer to think it’s pride.

 Birds make life special like flowers and raindrops and sunny days. I can’t imagine a world without them.

"The frog does not drink up the pond in which he lives.”

If we can discover the meaning in the trilling of a frog, perhaps we may understand why it is for us not merely noise but a song of poetry and emotion.” Adrian Forsyth

                                   Rana clamitans   (green frog)

This little green frog is such a happy little creature. He watches proudly over the pond and the other green frogs that gather there.  I suspect he samples an occasional tadpole as well as dining on insects.  He is so bold that when I weed the flower bed at the edge of his little pond, he will sit in it, often only two feet from me.  His eyes are constantly watching every move I make, but he does not hide. When my husband and I sit on our swing under the nearby pergola, he can hear us and often joins in the conversation.  His banjo-like sound "c'tung" gets louder if we talk louder. I often wonder what he is trying to tell us.

A green frog peeks out from the leaves of a water lily.  A perfect example of nature's camouflage.

Another good example of amphibian camouflage is this American Toad whose pictures were taken by my daughter while we were hiking on a trail in the Canaan Valley Refuge.

I can tell he is an American Toad and not a Fowler's Toad because he only has 1-2 warts per spot.  Fowler's Toads have 3-4 warts on each spot.  An interesting thing about toads is that when they lay their eggs in the water, the egg masses are long, spiraling strings of several thousand black eggs.

Another great example of camouflage.

This particular toad sat happily on the edge of our pond, sunning himself for many days.  At night we were treated to the loud trill of his song.

On another of our hikes, we came across a spring peeper. This is the frog that most people associate with the beginning of spring. It is hard to believe that this creature with a very loud call is actually only 3/4" to 1 3/8" in size. The males call from shrubs or trees that stand in or overhang water. In winter, they hibernate under logs or in loose bark.

Finally, my favorite frog of all is the wood frog.  It is truly the first frog of spring. They will make their way to an ephemeral pond, one that dries up in the summer, the first day after the snow has melted away.  They make their presence known as they make loud quacking sounds like a duck.  These are the frogs with bandit faces because they have a dark stripe below the eye.  This is one that I pictured in an earlier post and it's egg mass.

This is my favorite frog picture, that of a very tiny baby wood frog, called a froglet, sitting on a lily pad.

The Amen! of Nature is always a flower.

The Amen! of Nature is always a flower.

 Oliver Wendell Holmes

 

I was talking with a friend several months ago when I commented that I loved my spring garden because it is so pretty.  Another lady butted into the conversation with the corrective words, "Everyone's garden is pretty in the spring."  My friend, with a slight smile, while making eye contact with me replied, I think my garden is prettiest in the fall.  What presumption for me to say that my garden is pretty! For some people gardens must be created with very strict rules in mind.  All  plants must be planted in odd numbers and in a certain order with the proper back lighting. A weed is a sign of  moral failure.

                                         

My garden is a happy place of special memories.  Some of my plants belonged to my grandmother. They snuggle in beside others that I've purchased and many that came from our woods.  The red Bloodgood Japanese maple in the picture above is a Father's Day gift for my dad that I purchased while living in Louisville, KY in 1979. That expensive twig is  now a beautiful burst of sunshine throughout the summer.

Nothing could be prettier than the plants I have taken from my woods. There are the white racemes of the native Tiarella cordifolia L. so descriptively named "Foam Flower" because it's long stamens give it a frothy look.  Peeking up are the decorative leaves of a Mayapple (Podophyllum peltatum) yet to bloom along with the pointy faces of barely visible Canada Violets (Viola canadensis L.) and an occasional  SmoothYellow Violet (Viola eriocarpa Schwein). A bright red Wake Robin Trillium (Trillium erectum) and Wild Blue Phlox (Phlox divaricata L.) have slipped into this crowd of spring beauties.  Cultivars of astilbe, Helleborus Lenten rose, and Sagae hosta stand as sentries around them.

This close-up shows the long stamens of the foam flower, the yellow  and Canada violets, frilly leaves that earlier nourished the flower for the spring ephemeral Dutchman's breeches, the Mayapple, and even a tiny Jack-in-the-pulpit (Arisaema triphyllum )

This cultivar of the foam flower, whose plant label I lost, is contrasted by the 2 racemes of the native behind it.  Wild blue phlox and a tiny columbine plant can also be seen.

A Very Early Spring This Year

The visible marks of extraordinary wisdom and power

appear so plainly in all the works of creation.

John Locke

Tonight has the a sadness about it as I sit warm inside my home. Outside a freeze is to occur with morning temperatures dropping into the upper 20s. Everything is so beautiful. The fruit trees are blooming or have already set fruit, the berries are poised to bloom, and so many plants have appeared much too soon. Spring is that beautiful shade of gentle green that lasts for only a brief time.  It reflects the delicacy of new life, yet it is much too tender to withstand a sudden chill.  I've been busy recording all of the beauty around me.

VIOLETS

 Violets have long been my favorite sign of spring.  When I was a a child, I would rush home from school, change out of the mandatory dress and into slacks, and wander off to the woods.  After a long winter, I knew where I could find the first violet of each species.
                

Generally, the earliest violet was this yellow one, the Halberdleaf violet. It could be found on the side of the mountain where the afternoon sun lingered the longest.

 My favorite flowers in my spring garden are those that are native and that I have collected from the woods.  I believe the one to the right to be a Striped Violet.  Transplanted into my shade garden, it forms a beautiful ground cover with the stems trailing along the ground  a foot or so in length.  It also blooms for a long time.

The ancient Greeks considered the violets as a symbol of fertility and included it in love potions while

folk medicine considered them to be a remedy for sore throats.  The violet also serves as a host plant for the Fritillary butterfly.

Today the Mountain Whispers

God's in his Heaven, All's right with the world

God's in his Heaven, All's right with the world

The year's at the spring,

And day's at the morn;

Morning's at seven:

The hill-side's dew-pearl'd;

The lark's on the wing;

The snail's on the thorn:

God's in his Heaven---

All's right with the world!

from Pippa's Song by Robert Browning

How beautiful our weather has been after such a long and dreary winter. Everyone has been about the business of readying life for the coming of summer.  This happy groundhog was caught tidying up his hole while I saw glimpses of another close by. There will be lots of groundhogs this summer with huge appetites for the vegetables in my garden.

When I looked out of the window this morning, I discovered that one of the poles holding our bird feeders was bent nearly to the ground.  It looks like our black bear is out of hibernation too.
                                                                                                                                                                


The fox squirrels are delighted that the sunflower seeds are so easy to reach.

The faint white splotches are giant snowflakes, winter's reminder that it lingers long in these mountains.

On Sunday, my husband and I took a walk through the woods to look for signs of spring.  The nights are still very cold here, and there's little new growth.  We found round lobed hepatica leaves and soon there will be delicate, lavender flowers. Farther up the mountain, patches of snow remain while the green mosses give a preview of the warm, growing season ahead.
                                                         

A locust tree supports a burl.  Why these bumps develop on tree trunks is a bit of a mystery.  While many believe they occur in response to an injury or an invasion by a plant pathogen, no specific cause has been determined.  Because of the unusual grain patterns created by these growths, they are a woodworker's delight. 

The morning sun warms the cozy home of a chipmunk.

These are the remnants of an old road that once went from the gap between the mountains and travelled downward to ford the river below.  It was named for the Seneca Indians whose trail passed through the area going from upper New York to deep into Georgia. My Dad once told me that when he was a boy, the mailman would leave the mail in their box which was located at the point where the gap began. In the spring, when he had baby chicks to deliver, the mailman would tie his horse to the post and walk a quarter of a mile, over to my grandfather's house to deliver his delicate package.
    Today, the road disappears just ahead under the fill of a four lane highway. Below it, there is bulldozing as someone prepares what looks to be another campground.  With the city water coming to serve all of those who, unlike the old-timers, built their houses for the view rather than near a water source, over-development looms ominously.  The local road that replaced this old one in 1931 was also known as the Seneca Pike.  It  has now been renamed after a nearby tourist attraction

After savoring each wonderful moment and being renewed by the warmth and beauty of the walk, we arrived home to hear the welcome "quacking" of the wood frogs happily mating in our daughter's small molded pond. The frogs with bandit faces testify that spring is here.

Winter Yesterday, Spring Today

 Today, I made my first trip to the garden. I have been viewing its snowy blanket for many weeks now, but with most of snow melted, little bits of green are appearing. My first stop was beside one of the Lenten roses (H. orientalis) which never fail to have blossoms hidden beneath the deepest snow.

Our area is so cold and snowy that the "Christmas rose" (H. niger) usually makes its appearance alongside the Lenten rose.(H. orientalis).   When I looked for it, there it was beneath the apple tree with ivory buds ready to open. While the hellebore is not a native plant, it adds such a cheerfulness to the winter garden with its hardy green leaves and its promise that new life can occur even in the coldest, dreariest, and most desolate of times.  As a cancer survivor, I especially appreciate this symbolism.

This was the view on February 26, just 19 days ago.

How amazing is this beautiful earth with its gardens

patterned by nature!  No matter what the season

the wonder of it all never ceases.

A Hint of Approaching Spring

Every morning when I awake, I look out my bedroom window. In the summer, I enjoy each tiny bit of color as my garden shares its blooms. In winter, I stand amazed by the fluttering of wings as birds delight at the feeders. Today held a reminder that winter will not last forever. Red Winged Blackbirds had stopped on their way to their summer homes and were waiting for their turn at our wildlife restaurant. They dotted the apple tree like black ornaments on a child's Easter egg tree.

Then the most amazing thing happened. While enjoying my cup of coffee, I saw a red fox making its way along a trail created in the snow by deer. It boldly came towards our house and walked on down our driveway to the road. This is the first fox I've seen in many years. Poor management of the deer herd to appease the tourism industry has changed the plant life in our woods. The prevailing species are now ferns and invasives like barberry; plants that deer find unpalatable. This in turn caused habitat destruction for many of the smaller animals upon which the fox preys. The result has been a greatly diminished number of foxes.

Mining the Mountains

In the distance, a mountain's fate remains in jeopardy while the mining company begins the process by logging before the blasting.


A PERSPECTIVE ON MOUNTAINTOP REMOVAL
Today a blast shot out and saddened all who heard.
Nature screamed and vomited pain
While a blood-mist dirt sprayed skyward.
Like a violent rape, a wound exposed, ugliness for all to see
With life destroyed and beauty gone
A tortured death, a mountain’s long decay.

How sad, what a shame you say!
This shouldn’t have happened.
Why do “those people” do such horrible things?
On a happy note, I enjoyed the widened road today,
The new four-lane that sped me on my way
Through mountains beautiful beneath the sky.

To you, I reply that all participate in the orgy, all create the death.
Concrete and asphalt, granite counter tops,
A driveway for house with mountain view,
Elaborate stone work, a show of affluence,
Create the rape, continue the need
For flesh severed from mountain loins.

We Are the People of Appalachia

We are the people of Appalachia. We are made strong by harsh winters and softened by the sight of flowers dotted with butterflies, and uplifted by birds that fly across the sky. In a sense, we are Appalachia. We have a special unity with the soil, the life, and the very breath of these living mountains. While our bodies were forming within our mothers, our souls were springing forth from the beauty all around us. We have a oneness and joy in our being and a melding of spirit with our world. We experience a kinship with nature that a person existing in a man-made reality can rarely comprehend.

As children, the woods called to us with its coolness and moist fragrance. It held the delights of deer disappearing among the trees, glimpses of a fleeing fox, and the welcome beauty of a spring ephemeral. We explored colorful little mushrooms with umbrellas catching dew, and salamanders hiding beneath odd-shaped rocks. We watched in wonder as baby frogs with bandit faces emerged from vernal pools while the azure sat blue upon the cohosh. In autumn we savored the beautiful leaves as they fell gently to the ground creating a special woodland fragrance that only an October day can yield. As life lay dormant, we heard the chilling voice of the winter wind while trees with uplifted arms shivered in the cold. Life whispered all around us with secrets too deep to understand.

Our wisdom lies not in having tokens from the plastic world, for we are rich beyond our knowledge. We see instead the beauty of nature presented before our eyes. Make no mistake, we are learned in a special way, one that we share with generations of those who have known the same sensuousness, the same enchanting call of nature. We have a wisdom that strangers from synthetic places, strangers with smog filled eyes and damaged hearing and senses never developed cannot experience. We are strong, we are softened, and we are uplifted for we are the people of Appalachia.

In memory of my dad and grandfather

Fighting Cancer Is a Lonely Journey

Fighting cancer is a lonely journey that can only be understood by those dealing with the over-shadowing ogre of death. We push the monster away, consciously denying its existence, but it is still there. No matter what one’s age, there is a strong longing for life, for just one more adventure, one more sun-stroked day washed with the fragrance of a growing earth. Moments shared with loved ones are beyond the realm of “treasures” and become a merging of mind, heart and spirit. Life becomes defined by moments which take flight like giant snowflakes, softly landing as flower petals drifting to earth. I yearn for spring with its cool promise of new life, and its delicate beauty laced with sprinkles of color.